


Rescue

by orphan_account



Series: To Boldly Go... [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blind Jim, Captain Pike - Freeform, Established Relationship, Everyone lives, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Security officer Jim, injured on a mission, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 13:12:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15049814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's rare that Jim's blindness means he has the advantage, but he does when meeting with the Thylons--a blind species who live under ground.  Their mission is supposed to be a peaceful one, but when Jim finds himself injured and stuck in a cave with an unconscious Spock, he's fairly sure the Thylons missed that whole mission of peace memo.





	Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired, so I wrote this. That's it, that's the story lol. Anyway it's set in my blind Security Officer Jim universe, and it's an AU of the reboot series where everyone lives, and Vulcan wasn't destroyed. There is some mild violence and injury during their capture, but nothing graphic. let me know if I've missed any tags.

“Captain,” Jim heard Spock say in his clipped, irritated tone he always got when being pulled out of the lab. Jim suppressed his smile as he stood with his hands behind his back, and Scotty’s new and improved echo-locator gently alerted Jim to Spock’s approach.

“Lieutenant Commander,” Pike said, his voice dripping with a tone that was half-amused and half-exasperated at the Vulcan’s annoyance, “thank you for taking the time to join us, I understand you are very busy.”

“My work is in stasis and is capable of holding as long as my presence is required, Captain,” Spock said, still clipped, mostly because he knew Pike was calling him out for the underhanded, Vulcan hissy fit.

“I wanted to discuss the approach to Thylon VI before I assemble the away team,” Pike said. Jim heard the creak of his chair as he sat back in it. “You’ve been made aware of the Tylonians, yes?”

“Aye, sir,” Jim said with a nod. “I was going over the report earlier. Humanoid species, some very distant relation to Andorians as far as we can tell. Due to the hostile nature of their atmosphere, the species developed underground and evolved a sonar means of identification rather than traditional sight.”

“Correct, Lieutenant,” Pike said. “I’m sure you have deduced the reasons why I’m letting you head this mission in spite of Mr. Spock out-ranking you.”

Jim nodded. “Sir.”

“Mr. Spock, I imagine you don’t have an issue accompanying the away team to the planet…”

“Negative, Captain,” Spock said quickly, and Jim could hear his exasperation because there was no bigger Vulcan hissy fit than when Spock was not allowed to accompany Jim to a planet’s surface. Or in this case, below it.

“Now, Mr. Scott is engineering devices similar to yours, Mr. Kirk, to outfit the team. Due to the time constraints regarding training, I’m giving Mr. Scott the authority to assemble the team based on their ability to adapt to the devices between now and when we reach Thylon VI. Mr. Spock, I assume you’ve had thorough training…”

“Affirmative, Captain,” Spock said, less short this time, making Jim smile.

“Then I don’t anticipate a problem, though Mr. Kirk, I suggest you oversee the training to ensure your own satisfaction with your away team.”

Jim pursed his lips, then nodded. “Of course, sir.”

There was a beat of silence, and Jim had to assume that Pike and Spock were exchanging some sort of look—Jim could only imagine Spock’s struggle between pride and annoyance, which was his default every time Jim was on an away mission. Only this time he was an expert. This time the thing that Starfleet believed made him less—had previously disqualified him to even serve on a starship let alone lead a mission—was now the reason he was more qualified than anyone else to handle it.

“Mr. Spock, Mr. Kirk, I suggest the two of you take the remainder of your shift to refamiliarize yourself with the Thylon culture. And understand what we have is largely speculation through observation and the information provided to us during First Contact,” Pike said. His chair squeaked softly. “Any questions?”

“No, sir,” Jim said as Spock echoed, “Negative, Captain.”

There was a grin in Pike’s voice when he said, “Then, dismissed.”

Jim didn’t say much as they walked out of the room, and he took Spock’s arm so he could lean into him and say in a very low voice, “It sounds like the Captain just gave us blanket permission to have marathon sex before we have to beam down to that planet.”

Spock made a quiet scoff in the back of his throat. “It would be illogical for us to shirk our duties which will ultimately only benefit ourselves and the crew on this mission, simply because you find yourself aroused and wish to make poor use of time off the bridge, Jim.”

Jim’s hand slid from Spock’s arm to the small of his back where he had a _spot_ , and although Spock was more than skilled at controlling sudden reactions, Jim felt him very subtly jump against his hand. “How about we split the difference.”

“That statement, while illogical, does have some merits of temptation,” Spock murmured, and there was a slight husk to his voice which made Jim’s smile stretch wide across his face.

“My place or yours?” he murmured.

“Jim,” Spock said with what Jim considered his ‘annoyed Vulcan tone’.

“Come on,” Jim wheedled, “you know you love my flirting.”

“I happen to cherish you, which only extends to pieces of your personality which might otherwise be considered…mildly exasperating,” Spock conceded.

“That’s practically a proposal,” Jim said happily.

Spock sighed, but said nothing else as they made their way back to Jim’s quarters.

~*~ 

Sweaty and satisfied in far more ways than one, Jim turned on the bed toward Spock and let his fingers brush up and down the center of his chest. He loved a lot of things about Spock, and one of them was the feel of his body-hair. Jim had asked him the color a while back, and was told it was dark, and though where a human’s would have been coarse, Spock’s curls were soft and soothing to play with.

“Vulcans don’t sweat,” Jim said quietly as he let a few of the chest curls wrap around the tip of his finger. “Or cry, right?”

“Affirmative,” Spock said. His voice had that post-sex hoarse quality that got Jim all shivery inside.

“So when a Vulcan gets overheated…or really sad…”

Spock shifted, and then Jim felt tender fingers tracing along his jaw, then down his neck. “Vulcans have developed, over time, an innate ability to control our body temperature through meditation. It is…similar, perhaps, to the ability of human deep-sea divers. Mediation allows them the ability to reroute oxygen to their brains to prevent injury when entering deep waters unprotected. It is…similar.” Before Jim could say anything, Spock smudged a kiss to the underside of Jim’s chin and said, “Otherwise… they pant.”

“Oh my god,” Jim muttered, barely fighting off the urge to giggle.

Spock snorted his amusement, then kissed the side of Jim’s throat, right over his pulse. “Primal Vulcans, before the reform, would express grief through song.” Spock’s hand traveled down the expanse of Jim’s bare chest, brushing through coarse hair above his pubic bone, palm pressing flat to Jim’s now flacid penis. The sensation was like an undercurrent of eroticism, but not enough to rouse him, just enough to make him draw closer to Spock’s touch. “There are books of prose written in ancient Golic, our culture preserved and remembered, even if we do not participate.”

“What happens when you’re sad now? You just meditate it away?” Jim asked quietly as he wrapped his arms around Spock, letting their chests press together. He breathed him in, the mixture of sweet and spicy and foreign and Vulcan that he never seemed to lose, no matter how long they’d been aboard a ship in space. 

Spock hummed to indicate he was thinking. “We control grief as we control any emotion, however we express through words of comfort when they are necessary. S'ti th'laktra.” Jim shivered at the sound of Spock’s native tongue. “I grieve with thee. It is simple, but it is also effective.”

Jim kissed all the places he could reach, held him closer. Laid a palm against the side of his face. “What about you?”

He could feel the way Spock’s eyebrow lifted. “Clarify, ashaya.”

“Do you sweat or cry?”

Spock huffed, then turned his face to kiss the center of Jim’s palm. “I have cried. As a child, my father was concerned for my health when he found water leaking from my eyes, but my mother assured him it was natural for a being with some human genetics. I can sweat—I possess the ability, but it is rare.”

Jim hummed in consideration, wondering just how worked up he’d have to get Spock before his sweat glands kicked in. He didn’t get a chance to ask, instead found himself pinned, and kissed, and then the warm body pressed against his was gone.

“What?” he asked, slightly outraged that their post-coital cuddle session was interrupted.

He could hear the slight smirk in Spock’s voice as his uniform shirt hit Jim in the face and he said, “I believe the former half of your compromise has been fulfilled. Dress now, Lieutenant, we have work to accomplish.”

~*~

Jim could sense Spock’s tension as they approached the transporter room, and he reached out a hand to stop him. “A moment, Commander,” Jim said.

Spock hesitated. “Please assembled yourselves in the transporter room, and Lieutenant Kirk and I will be along momentarily.”

Jim waited until the last footfalls of the men were gone before he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “What is it?”

Spock was silent a moment, then he said, “Your confidence in this mission is admirable, and I did not hesitate to agree with the Captain regarding your unique qualification when dealing with the Thylons. However, I find myself concerned that you are fixated on your abilities to navigate their underground world rather than understanding cultural differences between them. We cannot know for certain whether or not the information we were provided with was accurate. Captain March’s team lost three of her security officers during First Contact due to miscommunication. They are warp-capable and advanced, but also classified as borderline hostile and xenophobic. I wish to learn more, but not at the threat to your safety.”

Jim found himself struggling to keep his smile down and not crow in triumph at the fact that Spock was readily talking about his _feelings_ right before a mission instead of repressing and turning into a huge, cranky, hissy-fit prone Vulcan. “I promise I’m going to follow every protocol, Spock. I’m not looking to get injured, certainly not looking to put the lives of our team in danger, okay? But I need to do this. I want to show that I’m capable, that I can be trusted to lead away missions—that it doesn’t necessarily need to be a blind planet for me to be qualified and…”

Jim’s voice fell quiet as Spock touched him softly where neck met shoulder. “Ashayam,” he murmured, and Jim shivered. “You know it has been my recommendation that you be promoted and are offered far more leadership positions on away teams…”

“Babe,” Jim said, knowing the little pet names annoyed his Vulcan, and he grinned, stepping into Spock’s space, though he didn’t linger, keeping their duty at the forefront of his mind. “I know you’ve been my biggest advocate. But you and I both know it’ll take more than a Vulcan in love to convince the Captain of what I’m capable of doing. I never forget that—never, on a single mission—am I unaware that my every move is being analyzed to prove whether or not letting me on this ship was the right call. So believe me when I say that I’m focused, and I want this to go well.”

Jim didn’t really consider the irony of famous last words.

~*~ 

At least…not until he was huddled in a damp cave, his entire body pulsing with pain from some sort of plasma-based weapon. His team was gone—the one thing he managed to get right was getting them beamed back to the ship before the Thylons threw up some sort of shield which prevented communication to the ship.

His only comfort was that Spock was with him, even if he was currently unconscious on the cave floor.

Jim was not sure how long it took for him to regain full range of motion, and he pushed away his frustration at having been stripped of his echolocator, his weapons, and his communicator in favor of following the sound of Spock’s slightly hitched, but steady breaths. He found him a few feet away, crumpled in a small heap near the jagged rock wall.

His hands made quick work of assessing injuries—the slight tremble in Spock’s fingers meant that he was likely hit with the same weapon, and due to his sensitivity, reacted to it more than Jim had. There were a few tacky spots which smelled coppery and rich—bleeding, but sluggishly so and would heal. Spock gave no indication that he felt any of Jim’s examination, and though Jim was no medic, he was reasonably sure that Spock’s only real injury was from the weapon.

“Alright, babe,” Jim said, and shifted so he could put Spock in his lap, “this isn’t exactly what I anticipated. I’m going to assume, for my own peace of mind, that you’re just in one of your little meditative, healing trances until whatever that shit was is out of your system. Because I need you to be okay. We can get out of this—we always get out of these things, but I need you with me so…just. Hang in there. Or whatever.” His hand brushed through Spock’s hair which was in disarray, touched his clammy skin on the side of his face, sought out his fingers because the best way to project his thoughts and feelings was through the hands.

It felt like an eternity passed before Spock let out a tiny groan and shifted in Jim’s arms. It was saying something about Spock’s weak state that Jim was able to prevent him from rising.

“Don’t,” Jim ordered, and Spock settled back down. His hand lifted, curling around Jim’s hip like an anchor. “Is anything broken?”

“I do not believe so,” Spock said, his voice heavy and hoarse. “I have sustained a mild head injury, and my nerve endings are damaged from the weapon. My hearing is fourteen percent compromised, however I am regaining low pitches as time passes. I am uncertain about my vision.”

“Yeah. They took everything, too, so I have no idea where we are.” Jim sighed in frustration and reached up, rubbing at his eyes until they hurt and Spock grabbed his wrist, gently easing his hand down.

“I was able to hear you in my meditative state, ashaya. I, too, cherish you beyond all reason, and I, too, believe that together we will leave this place. The tremors have reduced by twenty-four point six percent in the four minutes I have been awake,” Spock said, and it was true, his voice sounded stronger, less shaky.

“Were you able to get anything off them?” Jim asked after a moment. “I mean, you know, telepathically?”

“Only that they have some limited telepathic capabilities which are directly related to their sonar,” Spock said. “Their hostility toward outsiders is seems unprecedented, though I was unable to ascertain whether or not they have been invaded before.”

Jim groaned, letting his head fall back, wincing when a sharp bit of rock cut into the back of his neck. “They don’t really seem interested in negotiation. It’s almost like they agreed to a second contact meeting in order to attack us. I’m pretty damn sure I didn’t break any sort of social protocol.”

“I must concur with you in that assessment. We were attacked thirty point for seconds after beam-down,” Spock replied, and this time when he sat up, Jim loosened his arms and let him. Jim heard him give a soft grunt as he oriented himself, and then he heard a soft exhale. “I must admit I feel…disoriented.”

“Yeah, whatever they hit us with was a real bitch,” Jim said, and rubbed the sore spot on the back of his left shoulder.

“Indeed,” Spock said. Jim heard him shift again, then a tentative touch on his thigh. “It is also the pressing darkness. I admit I feel…far more disconcerted than after the events on Deneva.”

Jim let out a huffing chuckle and shifted, reaching for the crook of Spock’s neck, squeezing gently. “Yeah well, this time you’re not overwhelmed with relief from being out of pain,” Jim reminded him. “Plus I really think that weapon messed with my equilibrium. Moving around is making everything feel a little spinny.”

Spock hummed in consideration, then Jim felt him carefully press hands to his shoulders, drawing them along his torso, down his arms, along his legs.

“Babe?” Jim pressed.

“I find myself in need of ensuring you are uninjured, and as I cannot assess with vision, I would ask you allow me this,” Spock said, and there was a tension that Jim wasn’t about to ignore or deny.

“Go right ahead,” Jim said, and reclined back, trying to avoid the jagged edges as Spock gave him a once over. When he was clearly satisfied, Spock palmed Jim’s cheek, then leaned in for a human press of their mouths. “Better?” Jim murmured against Spock’s lips.

“Infinitesimally,” Spock admitted. “I would like to attempt a plan of action.”

“Yeah, me too. I was going to, but I wanted to make sure you were going to wake up.” Jim allowed himself a moment to feel that echo of fear before pushing it away. He pressed his hands to the ground, and braced himself to stand, and felt Spock’s sudden, firm hold on him increase. “I’m just standing up, Spock. Come on, just follow me, okay?”

“Alright, Jim,” Spock said, very quietly.

Jim pushed to his feet, Spock following him, not taking his hands away from Jim’s shoulders. When they were upright, Jim felt another wave of dizziness, though this one passed much quicker than the first. “I think whatever it is they hit us with is wearing off.”

“I can only begin to speculate, but I believe it is something akin to a plasma weapon that targets the nerve endings in flesh beings,” Spock said, sounding much more like himself. “It seems sophisticated technology, as I believe it affected us each according to our biology. It immediately stunted my telepathy, and I am only now regaining full use of my hands, and my hearing was compromised.”

Jim chewed on his lip, fighting the urge to rub at his eyes again. “Yeah, it knocked my balance totally out of whack, but luckily it doesn’t seem to last long.”

“Nevertheless,” Spock said as he began to slowly ease his hold on Jim, “we must endeavor not to be hit again if we wish to make a successful escape.”

“Only problem is, we can’t get to the surface. We don’t have protective suits, and they took our communicators.” Jim dragged a hand down his face. “I have no doubt Pike is in the middle of attempted negotiations, but he will follow the Prime Directive and if it means interfering…”

“I do not believe that he will leave us,” Spock said. His fingers drifted to the fleshy, soft part of Jim’s neck, pressing gently there. “But all the same, we will ensure our own safe departure from this planet.”

“These guys are going on the, Space Assholes, Do Not Contact list,” Jim muttered as he turned toward the wall. Spock’s grip on him remained half desperate, but shifted so he was holding Jim at the hip. With his hands free, Jim touched the wall, then reached out and grabbed Spock’s free hand, pressing it against rock. “Here, just… do me a favor and stand here. I need to get at least some idea of a layout in this place.”

“I do not wish to remain standing, useless,” Spock complained, and though his voice was filled with tension, he did not fight as Jim moved away.

“You’re not useless, but your hands are still recovering, so my touch is more sensitive. Plus…babe, this is how I live. What you can do is tell me if you hear any weird echoes or anything that might be like…a pit or a crevice that we might fall into. You can hear that kind of thing, right? Or is your hearing still off?”

“I believe I have regained the full measure of my auditory capabilities,” Spock said. Then fell quiet.

After a moment, Jim continued his path around the room, keeping a slow, shuffled pace to prevent himself from falling or stepping over anything. The room itself was rounded, and before Spock spoke again, Jim had circled the entire thing. There was no door to speak of, and no breeze he could find, to Jim had to assume that they had been placed there by some sort of beaming tech. Unless he was missing something huge, which was entirely possible.

“I do not believe there is anything in this room that would pose undo risk to your person,” Spock said.

Jim sighed. “Yeah. But that just means I have no idea how to get the hell out of here.” He decided to chance it, and walked directly across the room from where he was standing—the same, slow shuffle, and made it to the other side of the wall. 

When he returned to Spock’s side, he was drawn in, held tight. “It is…uncomfortable to be without some sort of physical proof that you are reachable,” he admitted.

Privately, Jim was going to save all these moments forever. But he didn’t have time to dwell right then. “We just need to figure out how to get the hell out of here.”

Spock let out a tiny breath and did not sound hopeful when he said, “It maybe that we will be forced to wait.”

~*~ 

Spock was right. He was always right, and it pissed Jim off a little—but mostly because the last thing in the world he wanted right then was to be stuck in a fucking hole of a cave with no way out, on some planet whose surface would kill them with a single breath. Jim was just starting to think they were going to be left there to rot when suddenly he felt the familiar tingle of an energizer beam.

For a moment, he had hope. Maybe the shields were lifted, maybe communications restored, maybe Scotty had managed to get them out.

He re-energized and was immediately bound with his hands behind his back. He could hear Spock struggling, but when the familiar, high-pitched hum of weapons made themselves known, Spock settled. Jim took a breath, his head bowed, squeezing his eyes shut for concentration and prayed their universal translators would still be working.

“So uh…any chance you want to let us go?”

The Thylons laughed, a sort of hissing sound, and then one said, “We intend to use you as a message that we will not be subjugated by any Empire—be it Romulan, Klingon, or Federation.”

“That’s not…” Jim’s voice cut off when something sharp jabbed him in the side and sent waves of pain through his body. His knees crumpled, and the only sound he was capable of was a huffing breath. He was sure he heard Spock say his name, but he couldn’t respond.

When the pain began to ebb, Jim was hauled to his feet and held, as his knees were still refusing to cooperate. He felt a presence, and then felt a rush of breath as the Thylon spoke. “We are perfectly aware of what your Federation is capable of, and we want no part of it. They were warned not to return here, and we intend to make sure we are left to ourselves after this.”

“This will be taken as declaration of war, and your weapons are formidable, but will not stand up to the Federation Alliance.”

“And if your people choose to subjugate and conquer, you will do little more than prove us right,” the Thylon said.

Jim swallowed thickly, and tried to clear his head. His body began to regain strength, and he was able to finally stand on his own. “This is a mistake. I’m more than happy to return to the ship and ensure the Federation accepts your decline, and places you in the category of No Contact. We can even offer you alliance without you joining, to protect you from anyone else who might…” The pain hit him again, and Jim sagged, though it was more short-lived.

Not that it would matter. He was certain whatever their plans were, they _would_ be returned to the ship, but probably in tiny pieces. Jim had been in dangerous, frankly terrifying situations before now, but he had never felt so hopeless. He was lost—totally and utterly, and even if they made it out and to the planet’s surface, there was no hope of survival, and no way to contact the ship.

He was hauled off after that, and he and Spock were thrown into another room—this one with a door, though it was wholly unmovable. Jim allowed himself to collapse in Spock’s arms and sink to the floor as his body shook off the last of the twitching. Spock’s fingers were gentle, soothing, something comforting humming from Spock’s skin to his own, like a quiet voice singing a melody in his head.

It took him a moment to realize he was _hearing_ it. “Are you singing?” Jim asked.

“I was attempting to project comfort,” Spock answered as his fingers brushed over Jim’s psi-points. “I apologize for the invasive…”

“No,” Jim said, interrupting Spock’s apology. “No please. It was nice.” He stopped, then frowned. “Wait. Was that one of the mourning songs or…”

“I have not lost such hope yet, Jim,” Spock said, his voice slightly amused. “However the song is from Vulcan before the reform. It is simply what you would on earth call a lullaby.” Spock went quiet as Jim was unable to stop himself from grinning and turning to press his face into Spock’s neck. Spock’s fingers curled into Jim’s hair, and he held him there. “Vulcans find logic in preserving our history, but not the preservation of cultural practice. My mother, however, found the music beautiful, and she would often times sing them to me in moments of distress during my childhood. I did not wish to be comforted by them, but I was.”

Jim swallowed thickly, and he sighed. The pain was starting to become a distant memory, and though there was still a tremble in his hands, he was regaining strength. “Can you…more. Just for a minute?”

Spock made an affirming noise, then pressed his fingers to Jim’s psi-points and projected the song in what Jim realized was Amanda’s voice. It was soft, soothing, slightly off pitch and full of more love than Jim could really vocalize. His eyes went hot, but his body immediately relaxed. When he shifted, his foot made an echoing noise, which was muted by…something.

He sat up. “Spock. There’s something in here.”

Spock went tense. “Clarify.”

“Not…I don’t…think it’s dangerous. A table, maybe? Furniture? I don’t know. I need to…” He tried to move, but Spock stopped him.

“You are injured, and those injuries will be exacerbated should you move incorrectly. Please trust in my abilities to assess our surroundings,” Spock was all-but pleading.

Jim sighed, but shifted over so Spock could stand. He pressed his head back against the wall—much smoother than the cave—and waited. He could hear Spock stand, hear the way Spock’s noises of motions were bouncing off—something. He had never been the best with echolocation without Scotty’s device, but he could tell there were _things_ in this room. Inanimate things.

“If I am correct, I believe it is a large table, and two chairs,” Spock said. There was another noise—something metal, and small, clattering to the ground. Then a moment later, excitement in Spock’s voice. “It is our equipment.”

Jim sat up a little too fast, his head swimming, but he braced himself against the wall and stood. “Spock! Is it working?”

He could hear Spock fiddling with it, and then it clicked on, but there was only static. “I hypothesize the Thylons are using some sort of ion field to disrupt both communication and extraction. It is my belief this will not extend to the planet’s surface.”

“Yeah, but…” Jim began.

“Jim.” Spock’s voice was soft in the room, growing louder as he approached. Jim raised his hands and made contact with Spock as the Vulcan entered his space, and he felt the hard press of his communicator against his palm. “I believe the echolocators are also in this room. Our only chance of escape is to utilize them, and attempt to beam out from the planet’s surface. I believe that the Enterprise is still in orbit, and it will take Lieutenant Scott less than twenty-five seconds to enact a rescue once the ship locks on to our presence. We need only not inhale the toxic components of the planet’s surface and we can anticipate a eighty-four point six percent chance of successful rescue.”

Jim dragged a hand down his face, then smiled, because what else could he do. “I guess even if we do die, it’ll probably be a better way to go than what the Thylons have in store for us, right?”

Spock sighed, and cupped Jim’s cheek with one hand, drawing him in close so their foreheads pressed together. At the contact, Jim felt Spock’s thoughts and emotions swirling and burning—his fear, his apprehension, his frustration, his absolute love. “I will not let anything happen to you,” Spock murmured.

Jim touched Spock’s neck in return, pressing his finger tips into the soft, fleshy place just below his ear, and he could feel the rapid beat of his pulse. “I know you won’t,” he murmured back, and realized that there was no one he trusted more with his own life.

~*~ 

Jim supposed it was fear, adrenaline, and desperation that had him moving as fast as they did. He managed to get the echolocator working, and there was more than a feeling of relief when he suddenly became spatially aware of his surroundings. It was still alien, and he knew it wouldn’t be perfect, but it was something.

Spock confirmed his strength had returned enough to pry the door open, but before he did so, he crowded Jim up against it and kissed him long, slow, filthy. “You must remain my guide,” Spock murmured into his ear. “I will not be able to open my eyes for risk of damaging myself on the surface. I will tell you when it is time to gather your breath to hold it, and I request that you trust me.”

“Of course I do, of course,” Jim said, and kissed him again. “I love you.”

There was a pause, then then Spock grabbed Jim’s hand and kissed the tips of his fingers. “As I love you, t’hy’la.”

It was rare Spock used the words in Standard to express his affection, and his Vulcan phrases had always been enough, but there was a certain thrill for Jim hearing it in his own language. Then he wondered if maybe it wasn’t a goodbye, but he trusted Spock to get them to the ship safely.

Jim held the echolocator, and Spock held the communicator, and then they ran for it.

Jim expected it to be more harrowing, to meet with guards, to be shot down. Instead they reached the sealed chamber which led to the surface, and Spock gathered Jim close once they were inside and pressed their noses together.

“Deep breath, ashaya, and then you must run.”

Jim wasn’t certain in his abilities to hold his breath and run, but his life depended on it. And so did Spock’s. He filled his lungs and the doors opened, and the moment the atmosphere hit him, he felt the burning, searing ache against his exposed skin. 

But he did as Spock asked. He avoided dips, and walls, and curves, and got them to a higher elevation. Jim grew dizzy, the desperation to open his mouth and gasp in a lungful of air. He could hear the noise Spock made with the communicator, and heard the Enterprise answer the beeping code.

Twenty five seconds. That’s what Spock said. Twenty five seconds.

His lungs burned, and his head swam.

He wasn’t going to make it. His knees began to collapse, and just when his mouth started to open, he felt it sealed over by Spock’s and the kiss was enough to shock him back.

Then he felt the familiar tug as his particles began to destabilize, and the Enterprise beamed them home.

~*~

They were released from medbay the following day with strict, angry orders from Bones to stop acting like a coupl’a fools and tryin’a get themselves killed on every damn mission. Jim took it all in stride, along with the ordered two-day leave Pike gave them to recoup.

Normally Spock would have fought against it, but Jim had a feeling that coming that close to death was enough to shake even the most stoic of Vulcan Science Officers. Spock had been dismissed first, and Pike had asked Jim to stay back.

When they were alone, he heard the subtle click of Pike’s shoes, and then a warm hand fell on his shoulder. “You did good, son.”

Jim couldn’t help the harsh laugh. “I completely failed. Which okay to be fair wasn’t even my fault considering they started _shooting us_ the second we landed but…”

“Sometimes the success isn’t in the completion of the mission, but at discovering the most relevant information, and bringing everyone—including yourself—home safe. You did that. The Thylons are an intelligent, warp-capable species that are at present a danger to any Federation Vessel that approaches. That’s what we needed to know. Your experience will save the lives of anyone who might have considered another contact.”

Jim rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled from one foot to the other. “Yeah. But just as an aside—that fucking sucked.”

Pike laughed, shaking Jim by the shoulder gently. “I know that. But you and Spock make an amazing team—in more ways than one. I’m submitting the forms for your promotion, Lieutenant Commander. Congratulations. We’ll celebrate properly after you’ve had a chance to sleep all that off.”

Jim expected to be elated, maybe surprised—anything beyond an apathetic acceptance of the new title, but he supposed it was just the trauma of the last few hours, and knowing that he narrowly escaped death. “I’m capable of doing more than just not dying, you know that right?” Jim said.

Pike snorted, then gently pat Jim on the edge of his jaw before his footsteps told Jim he was walking back to his desk. “I had the forms filled out two weeks ago, and then we had that thing with the Andorians and I figured it would be a nice surprise for you when you got back from the planet. I know you’re capable, Mr. Kirk. I expect this and more, from any mission you’re sent on. You’re on a command track. You’ll get your own ship this day. Hell,” Pike said after a long pause, “maybe even this one.”

Jim felt his mouth finally, _finally_ , curve into a grin. “Thank you, Sir.”

“You’re welcome. Now get the hell out of my quarters and go sleep. I don’t want to see your face for at least two shifts.”

“Aye, Captain,” Jim said, then turned and hurried out.

~*~

Spock was waiting for Jim on his bed, and Jim didn’t bother with doing more than stripping down to his skivvies and sliding on top of the covers to curl against his Vulcan. He let out a breath of relief when Spock’s arms wound around him, drawing him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his shoulder.

“Did you know about the promotion forms?” Jim asked.

“Affirmative,” Spock said drowsily. “The Captain confided in me. I provided an unbiased recommendation for it.”

Jim snorted a laugh. “Unbiased. That’s rich. You’re totally compromised when it comes to me.”

“I believe I am capable of providing an opinion unaltered by my regard for you,” Spock said softly, holding Jim just a little tighter. “And in fact it is your drive, your capability, and your leadership that provides a level of attraction I cannot deny. As such, it is your abilities as an officer and a some-day captain which compromises my feelings for you, and not the other way around.”

Jim squeezed his eyes shut, feeling almost choked by emotion. He breathed through it, then settled back against Spock’s chest and felt sleep tugging at him.

Just before he drifted off, he felt Spock press his palm to the center of his chest, and felt the rumble of his voice against his back as he spoke. “I wish to bond with you.”

Jim was startled awake by that. He knew it was something he intended to do eventually—Spock had ended his pre-bond with T’Pring to be with Jim, and he understood how important it was for Vulcans to be bonded, but they hadn’t talked about it really since then.

“Yeah?” he asked.

Spock hummed, nodding against the side of Jim’s head. “Affirmative. I found myself at a loss, wishing our minds were connected down on Thylos. I do not wish to delay. If you are willing and accept my proposal, I will request shore leave when we are near enough to Vulcan.”

Jim grinned, turning in Spock’s arms to kiss him. “Of course. Yes. I…Spock.” He was overwhelmed and fell silent, basking in the warmth of Spock’s grasp. “It’s forever, right?”

“It is,” Spock confirmed with some hesitation.

Jim simply reached down, pressing a hand low on Spock’s ribs to feel the beat of his heart, and he laid his head against his chest and said simply, “Then good.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm here on tumblr now [ashayamspirk](https://ashayamspirk.tumblr.com) so you can look me up and we can talk about spirk or T'Pura things.


End file.
